


Last Thoughts

by Humanity_Sucks2002



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Memories, Dark, Death, Final Thoughts, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Memories, Poor Harry, Suicide, Sweet Harry, and Harry feels terrible, because it's Hickey's camp, cannibalism reference, he deserved so much better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 22:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30146400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Humanity_Sucks2002/pseuds/Humanity_Sucks2002
Summary: Harry Goodsir had a couple of minutes to think as he died. Lying there, on that cold bed, the arctic wind blowing through the holes in his tent, he wished he had a swifter acting poison.
Relationships: Francis Crozier & Harry D. S. Goodsir, Harry D. S. Goodsir & Cornelius Hickey, Harry D. S. Goodsir & David Young, Harry D. S. Goodsir & Lady Silence | Silna
Kudos: 3





	Last Thoughts

Harry Goodsir had a couple of minutes to think as he died. Lying there, on that cold bed, the arctic wind blowing through the holes in his tent, he wished he had a swifter acting poison.

He thought about home. He thought about the river that ran behind his mother’s house and how he and his brothers would play in it as children. His brothers would splash and fight. Harry would scoop up frogspawn and fish. He’d catch them, put them in jam jars. He’d been fascinated watching the tadpoles grow into frogs. When they grew old enough, Harry would release them back into that river and giggled in delight when he spotted a frog later in the year. They were his frogs. His family. His first expedition into the natural world.

That water had felt freezing at the time. How naive he had been! A bitter laugh forced its way out of him. Naïve. Yes – Harry knew that was what he was: what he always had been.

There was a flash of thought for his family. Harry saw his mother’s face and how excited she’d been when he’d been accepted to medical school. The memory of how she’d pulled him into a tight hug, and had kissed his head, making him promise to be good, made Harry’s eyes burn.

He saw his father, cheerfully helping him pack for this expedition. He heard his voice, deep and rich, laughing about how his son was to be a great explorer.

He saw his brother waving him off from Liverpool docks – his niece sitting on his shoulders, waving too.

Most of all though, Harry thought about how disappointed they all would be with his actions. How horrified they would be if they could see the blood on his hands. The murder he facilitated. There must have been another way, he thought. There must have been a way to keep everyone safe, and not desecrate Billy’s corpse. Hickey – he should have killed Hickey somehow. But, if he had, Harry knew he would be grappling with that guilt right now. Damn him. Damn that bastard.

A tear slipped down his cheek. It was warm against his frozen skin. The salty water pooled in his ear as he laid there, trying not to move. The poison made the muscles of his stomach clench harshly. Harry fought not to double over.

Harry’s mind drifted to his schooling. To dusty books, to huddling around candles – studying deep into the night; to grand, gothic buildings as the backdrop to his dreams of adventure. He’d laid in bed at night – warm, ha, he’d been warm – head filled with pictures of Indian jungles, the plains of America, the perfect, icy wastelands of the Arctic.

He held his stomach, pain stabbing him in the lower gut, radiating out into all of his muscles. A cry was ripped from his throat, and he shoved a fist into his mouth to silence himself. Hickey couldn’t hear him. Harry wouldn’t allow him to hear him. He demanded this moment in peace.

It was too terrible to think of the crew. He didn’t have enough time to think of everything he regretted. Harry just hoped Captain Crozier would be able to get that ring to the boy’s sister. How he would, Harry didn’t know. God, he hated himself that he couldn’t remember the poor boy’s name. His death flashed before Harry’s eyes. Maybe he’d get to apologise to him in person soon?

“God forgive me.” Harry whispered, but not fully believing that he would.

Limbs began to twitch uncontrollably. Harry tasted blood in his mouth. Pressure was steadily building on the inside of his skull, as if the organ was swelling and the bones refused to accommodate it. Harry’s vision was beginning to grow dark.

He hoped Lady Silence was alright. He wished he’d been able to convince her to tell him her name: calling her Lady Silence felt inappropriate. Harry didn’t worry for her being able to keep herself alive, no she was mistress of the land up here. Harry only worried that the crew would bring more chaos into her life, more suffering, more pain. He hoped to any god that was listening that she wouldn’t have a run in with Hickey – anyone for that matter, but especially him.

He hoped that Crozier would kill Hickey. Maybe that made him a bad person, but – for the good of everyone he wished it. If the poison he had rubbed on his skin didn’t kill Hickey, Harry hoped that Crozier would.

But then he thought no more. Then there was peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Well that hurt to write. I'm terribly sorry. It's been burning a whole in my brain since I watched that scene.


End file.
